


Equivocation

by dialectica_esoterica



Series: Nocturne [3]
Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Banter, Benny Watts POV, Biting, Canon Compliant, Chess Metaphors, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Dates, First Love, New York City, Oral Sex, Possibly Unrequited Love, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialectica_esoterica/pseuds/dialectica_esoterica
Summary: Benny comes up with a plan to ask Beth to stay with him in New York.Alternatively: two emotionally-stunted people have an emotional conversation.
Relationships: Beth Harmon & Benny Watts, Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Series: Nocturne [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017951
Comments: 24
Kudos: 443





	1. Part I

Here’s the thing about Benny Watts: he doesn’t try halfway. He either succeeds on the first go – _gloriously_ – or he tries again and gets it right the second time around.

Here’s the thing about Beth Harmon: she’s fucked that all up.

By the fourth or fifth time she beat Arthur, Hilton _and_ himself within the span of a few minutes, it dawned on Benny that perhaps he’s just a _little_ of out of his depth. Unlike the other men that Beth has defeated on the professional chess circuit, Benny doesn’t feel emasculated when she wallops him – honestly, it’s _kinda hot_ \- but he does feel like he’s being left behind, like he loses a few more inches of ground in their game of tug-of-war. She’s making it damn near impossible for him to regain his footing.

With every passing week, Benny has become increasingly hyperaware of the fact that their days together are numbered. He’s equally as aware of the fact that once she leaves…

Well. He would rather not think about that.

Their last week together feels like a dream. Not in the sense that it’s overwhelmingly good (though it is) - just that it doesn’t feel entirely real. There’s a lack of authenticity that marks the most poignant moments: when she wakes up in his bed, when she touches his shoulder casually to get his attention – anything that indicates how domiciliary their situation has become. It’s just too surreal to be anything but fiction, but it’s become so... _ordinary,_ having Beth here. 

As usual, it’s mostly chess – playing, reading, studying, recreating, dissecting. They’ve gone through every one of Borgov’s games: single matches, tournaments, exhibitions, whatever is publicly available. Not to mention the fact that he’s made Beth run through every mistake in her Mexico City match so many times that she could probably recite them in her sleep.

While the entirety of their combined intellect is dedicated to preparing for Paris, there have been moments – though few and far between – where Benny catches glimpses of her story, her personality, her most immutable qualities. Before they lived together, Benny knew only the information that was already public: she was orphaned, then adopted at fifteen; she’s from Lexington; she was crowned the Kentucky State Champion at her first-ever competition; she has red hair and brown eyes; she usually prefers to open with the Sicilian.

Little by little, Benny has begun to see into her past: little tidbits of information given mostly by accident or offered casually, while Beth remains entirely unaware how enormously odd or _sad_ or otherwise unusual they portray her. For example, he learned within a twenty-second conversation that Beth prefers to smoke Chesterfields and _also_ that her adoptive mother died less than six months ago. Benny had nearly spat out his coffee in surprise and Beth had only looked at him curiously, like she hadn’t expected a response to either of those things.

(It was immediately clear that Beth had avoided mentioning her mother’s death because she was fundamentally unable to receive any kind of sympathy, or pity, or treatment that would otherwise mark her as vulnerable. Benny can relate. He doesn’t bring up her parentage – or lack thereof - again.)

With every passing day, Benny realizes with increasing urgency that he has to say something, do something, make some kind of move so that she knows – if not the depth of his affection for her, at least that she’ll always have a place in his life, his apartment, at his kitchen table chess board. He doesn’t think it would do to come right out with the _I love you_ ’s, but he does have a question he wants to ask. And frankly, he’s equal parts terrified and thrilled to do it.

So Benny does what he does best: he makes a plan, aided by several calculations to ensure the most desired outcome, and padded with several contingencies and exit strategies in case of unexpected or overlooked factors. 

On the third-to-last day – after almost five weeks of near-constant togetherness – Benny decides that it’s time. Enter: reservations at a trendy new restaurant in Midtown that Beth is currently appraising with her enormous eyes. Like everything new that she encounters, she has approached the situation with an air of poise and self-assurance that has taken Benny nearly five weeks to realize is not an act, but more of a coping mechanism. There isn’t a single person or condition that Beth doesn’t recognize as a threat, so they all get treated with equal finesse - under which lurks her unparalleled skills as a strategist and analyst, just waiting for the opportunity to take the upper hand.

“Why did you choose this place?” she asks, her fingers tapping over the blanched tablecloth, her gaze sweeping over the naked light fixtures above the tables. The restaurant is modern and features décor that falls somewhere between chic and minimalist with a color palette that’s just _this_ side of garish, at least in Benny’s opinion. But what does he know about interior design, honestly?

“It was recommended by a friend,” he tells her, neglecting to mention that said “friend” is actually a review piece in the _Times_ showcasing the best restaurants for a first date. Yeah, Benny has never done this before.

It’s not like he hasn’t had his fair share of intimate encounters, but they have all been predicated on a mutual understanding of utility and impermanence. For Benny, dating has always been more of a means to an end – said encounters were mostly comprised of mutual physical attraction, a desire for companionship, and, most importantly, the basic human requisite of having the occasional orgasm that is more fulfilling with others than it is alone. They’re never lasted more than a few weeks, at the outside.

“It’s…nice.” She said it in a classic _Beth_ tone that means she’s leaving all of her thoughts un-vocalized; she’s waiting for the most advantageous moment to lay all her cards on the table and reveal a royal flush. Benny is almost excited, anticipating the game they’re about to play because no one has ever posed a threat quite like _her_.

“I figured we would do something a bit different before you leave. I won’t have as many occasions to get out, when you’re gone.” He takes a moment to sip from his lager, all the while maintaining eye contact with Beth. The majority of their dynamic boils down to observation; taciturn information-gathering based on body language and minute changes in expression. Her face doesn’t change, but her eyes are clear. Benny waits, knowing that eventually one of them will break and advance the conversation.

It’s a full minute before Benny clears his throat and decides to fall on the sword. “So, do you feel ready to go to Paris?”

She sweeps her gaze slightly up and to the right to respond, followed by a delicate arch in her eyebrow – another classic Beth gesture. “I mean, yeah. My visa was approved by the French embassy and my passport’s all ready to go, I just need to pack and find something to read on the plane.”

“I meant more… how do you feel about it? Do you feel ready?”

She takes a little longer to respond this time. “We’ve done everything we can, right? I’ve been through the Benny Watts Chess Bootcamp; I think I’m as ready as I can be.”

Benny nods slowly, considering. “That’s true. But I’m not a shrink, Beth, I can’t get inside your head. I can’t stop you from reacting when your opponent catches you off guard. Like I did in Vegas.”

She recoils, ever so slightly, and there’s a delicate edge to her gaze.

“I’m a different player now, Benny.” Her tone is cautionary – she’s daring him to question her skill, and given that she’s probably better than him now, that conversation would _not_ be pleasurable to his ego.

“I know.” His instinct is to mollify, pacify. He refrains from acting on that particular reflex, but he doesn’t back down. “I just… want you to do well.”

Beth acknowledges this in the most _Beth_ way possible, which is to say that she doesn’t really acknowledge it. Or, at least, Benny thinks that she won’t, but is prevented from finding out by the arrival of their server to drop off hors d’oeuvres. 

There are several key differences to this meal from the others they’ve shared: for one, they don’t usually _share_ meals – they eat at the same time and in the same place, but they’re always too distracted by chess pamphlets or phone calls or something on the radio to consider their meals shared in the traditional sense. For another thing, they rarely sit across from each other at an actual table, instead adopting different seating positions around the apartment based on convenience, and when they actually go out to eat - which, so far, has been exclusively at the all-night diner a few blocks away - they just sit side-by-side at the counter.

But, as usual, Beth is unfazed and takes the whole situation in stride with an air of serenity; it’s clear that she’s used to upscale dining. Benny wonders - almost wildly - if she’s used to being taken on upscale dates by upscale men; if she’s used to being treated in an upscale way, and he knows he can’t compete with that. Even if he had the money to do this all the time, it just… isn’t right. It’s not _them_. 

Beth is a fucking mind reader, unsurprisingly, because she’s laying down her salad fork and looking at him openly. “Okay. You're being weird.”

There’s an unfamiliar sensation, just underneath his skin – a buzzing; a loud noise that _itches_. Benny has the urge to do something impulse and reckless to exorcise it from his body. He wants to get drunk, he wants to get unbelievably high just to stop the noise from droning on and on because it’s nearly unbearable and he has the sudden impulse to pull Beth onto the table and bite his signature into her skin -

He plays dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s not very convincing, and they both know it. She gives him a _look –_ one eyebrow arches while the other falls ever so slightly _._

There’s an entire swarm of hornets underneath Benny’s ribs; he is but a primal animal with primal needs and he wants to _claim_ her – he wants to put a stop to their inane games and tell this divine creature, point-blank, that she belongs here, belongs to _him_. He thinks he might be sweating.

Benny exhales, thinking of how to best proceed given how fucking _weird_ he feels, and then speaks slowly.

“I, uh, wanted to do something to mark the occasion. It’s not every day that your star pupil leaves to compete against the best chess players in the world, you know.” There’s just a hint of cynicism in his tone, designed to mask his now-frantic nerves, but Beth – _of course_ – picks up on it immediately.

Beth half-smirks, half-smiles (how she manages to do both at the same time, Benny will never know), and leans forward, un-crossing and re-crossing her legs on the opposite side. She rests her elbows on the table. “Is this a _date,_ Watts?”

 _Son of a bitch._ Benny prepared for this, though.

“Yes,” he tells her truthfully, and Beth looks taken aback by his honesty, if only for a moment. He proceeds with his plan of attack.

“I wanted to give us an opportunity to… get to know each other, outside of chess.” He spreads both hands wide, palms up, fingers flared. “I realized, I don’t actually know that much about you. Beyond _chess._ ” He puts emphasis on the last word to indicate that, when it comes to _chess,_ he does actually know a lot about her. Almost everything, Benny would wager.

Beth has her hands clasped now, both pointer fingers resting on her lips as she studies him. He is as familiar with this pose as he is with the feel of his own leather jacket.

Eventually, she speaks: “You already know everything there is to know.”

Benny tries not to hesitate, because, _ouch_ – that sounds kind of like a rejection – but he isn’t deterred, not yet. So, he tries again: “What do you want to do with your life, Beth?”

Beth scoffs. “I want the same thing you want, the same thing Borgov and every other master and grandmaster wants. I want to play chess until I die. You of all people should be able to relate.”

Beth was probably going for nonchalant, but it hasn’t worked: her statement reeks of sadness, of fear, of _bitterness._ With any other opponent, Benny would attack at the smell of blood in the water, but his goal tonight is not exactly to triumph over her. He’s seeking a different, more… _long-term_ type of victory. So, he tries something smaller, more manageable: “What do you want to do, after Paris?”

Beth still redirects; trying to get a straight answer from her is like trying to trap a goldfish with one’s bare hands. “I haven't thought that far ahead. Why are you asking? Are you trying to be my shrink after all?”

Benny refrains from rolling his eyes – who taught her to be this goddamn stubborn? - and decides to try an even bolder move. He holds his breath as he reaches over the table with his right hand to grasp her left in a frighteningly-vulnerable display of public affection, all the while waiting for her to retreat like a spooked horse. The humming in his ears is nearing its crescendo. (Hopefully.)

Shockingly, miraculously, Beth doesn’t withdraw – but she does stare at him as though he’s announced he’s moving to the moon. Her incredulous expression might be laughable, in any other situation.

“Why are you _still_ pushing me away, Beth?” Benny says this as quietly as he possibly can, trying to convey that he wants only _her_ to hear this; he’s not trying to shame her or otherwise cause a scene. “After all the time we’ve spent together. Don’t you know that you can be honest with me?”

Her eyes snap shut, her hand curls into a tight fist inside his. “I can’t be that person, Benny.”

It’s not a dismissal, it’s a confession, and Beth looks like she’s engaged in a furious battle behind her closed eyes. _I can work with this,_ thinks Benny, and tries again: “You can’t be honest with me? I know that’s not the case. Just this morning you told me I couldn’t boil an egg to save my life, and I’m pretty sure you were telling the truth.”

Benny is aiming for a hint of levity; Beth doesn’t react.

“It’s not that simple.”

“What’s not that simple, Beth?”

“I’m not – _fuck._ I’m not ready for this conversation.”

“What if I told you that you didn’t need to change?”

Beth breathes out, slowly, and opens her eyes – though she isn’t looking at him, but through him. “You can’t know that.”

It’s true, Benny knows, but it’s not the point. “I’m not proposing marriage. I’m just… Will you come back to New York, after Paris? I can’t – I’m not ready to stop being your coach.”

She look at him now, eyes full of suspicion, and Benny wants to _scream_ because she is the smartest, most observant person he’s ever met so _how can she not see it?_ How can she _possibly_ not realize that Benny will do absolutely anything to hold onto her, for as long as she’ll let him? Benny knows that this is the culmination of their time together: she’s either going to break his heart, here and now, or…

“Why?” Her voice is small and impossibly sad. Benny wants to – wants to pretzel himself around her, show her the love and affection that she deserves, even if he’s never done that before and doesn’t really know how. _Because I’m not ready to let go of you, Beth Harmon,_ he thinks but doesn’t say; what he actually says isn’t much better.

“ _Please_ , Beth. Just…come back, when you’re done.”

He knows that his eyes are so full of longing that it _burns,_ but he’s not going to look away; he’s not going to let her disappear like a magician behind a smoke bomb without an answer or an acknowledgement or, fuck it, even a flat-out rejection and her drink thrown in his face. He needs her to know the truth; for her to see it, stare it directly in the face, and even if this is the last conversation they ever have Benny can be assured that he _tried._

It’s the most delicate sound in the world: the sound of Beth breathing lightly, shallowly, while she looks him in the eyes, not moving a muscle beyond the rising and falling of her chest. He knows that she’s visualizing every possible outcome to this situation in front of her, like she would the after white makes the first move. She’s as still as a statue and Benny is _fucked_ because _why won’t she talk_ and is she thinking of the best way to let him down gently or –

“Okay.”

Benny is _fucked._


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their date.

There isn’t much point in staying at the restaurant, after that.

Beth knows it’s uncouth, but the windows of the cab have become fogged from where they’re sitting in the backseat. Well, Benny is sitting. Beth is on top of him, grinding up against where he is already aroused, their mouths locked in a fierce battle for dominance.

Benny is a good kisser – this much Beth has known for a few weeks now – but she’s apparently being treated to a whole new level of expertise tonight, as Benny is tangling their tongues, drinking out of her mouth, making her feel _dizzy_ and _weak_ – like how she always imagined kissing to be, when she was younger. He’s got his hands up under the hem of her dress, holding each side of her ass with each of his hands, his stroking fingertips nearing the seams of her underwear. Beth is shivering; the closer he gets to _touching_ her, the more she feels like she’ll shiver right out of her skin.

Beth pauses her rocking to push her chest and torso up against Benny’s, pressing their bodies together – in the process, Benny’s hand slips underneath her panties to stroke the skin just below her opening. She gasps into his mouth, involuntarily seeking the pressure of his fingertips, and he has the audacity to snicker.

“You _ass –_ ”

Beth is cut off by Benny sliding a finger inside her casually, like he does this every day – which, in the days since they started having sex, is mostly true. Benny has spent more time than any other person she’s slept with getting to know all her buttons (both literal and figurative), and then using them to _destroy_ her. Benny is the type of sexual partner that one can’t help but compare to previous partners, and then feel retroactively silly about how they ever thought sex before was _good._

It’s not like Beth hasn’t wondered about how Benny got this skilled. There’ve been other hookups, sure – but it’s fairly obvious that Beth has significantly less experience in comparison to Benny, at least from her perspective. What she lacks in experience, however, Beth intends to make up for in enthusiasm. She wants – _intends_ – to blow his goddamned mind.

Which she is currently _not_ doing: Benny is firmly in control of the situation, as his free hand is clutching her hip on the outside of her dress, using it to control the swaying of her body as he fucks her onto his fingers, two of them now. He is in charge, and the look in his eyes is proud – gloating, even. He’s got his head tilted all the way back into the seat, and Beth’s mouth has followed his – damn, he’s a good kisser – and he’s whispering _yes, yes, yes_ between her name, and her toes are curling and she can’t breathe –

They’re interrupted by a sharp knocking against the glass panel by the driver. Apparently, they’ve arrived outside the building that is deceptively _not_ the entrance to Benny’s apartment, and their incidental third-wheel is consciously clearing his throat – most likely, he deals with horny twenty-somethings in the back of his cab all the time. Beth is blushing, more than she can ever remember, but Benny is only smirking and gently pushing her off his lap. She exits the car just in time to watch him pull a handful of bills out of his wallet (Jesus, that’s a generous tip) and unceremoniously toss the wad of cash in the general direction of the driver before climbing out onto the sidewalk.

She definitely expected Benny to linger and wait for her to start towards the apartment before following. Instead, he blows right on past towards the entranceway, seizing her wrist in the process and dragging her along, dazed expression and all. She can practically hear his pleased grin. Beth has seen Benny _aroused,_ before, sure, but… not like this. Like he’s greedy for her. It’s more of a turn-on than anything found in her stash of illicit daydreams.

She’s stumbling down the grimy stairs and into the hall before they briefly pause so Benny can fish out his keys and unlock the door, and Beth notes with satisfaction that his hands are unsteady – not shaky, exactly, but there’s less grace to his fine motor movements than usual. (Benny is really steady with his hands, normally. Beth would know.) The door finally opens and the iron grip on her arm resumes to pull her inside, because it’s clear that Benny is going to get what he wants tonight and Beth is electrified to know that what he wants is _her_.

Beth is pushed back up against the closed door only to be ravished again, his tongue dragging sounds out of her mouth that she didn’t even know she could make. Benny is pulling no punches and he’s yanking off her dress and shift with lighting speed: “Off. All of it.”

His voice is strict, commanding; she complies without thought and she’s pulling off her bra and underwear clumsily so that she’s naked – the perfect foil to his completely clothed form but it doesn’t matter a bit because his hands, his perfectly _rough_ hands grasp her body and _whirl_ her so that she’s pressed up against the door. Benny pushes up against her so that she can feel his erection on her ass, even through his trousers; his hands are on her hips, groping – she lets her head fall back onto his shoulder so she can gasp when he whispers in her ear “ _You have no idea what you do to me.”_

Even though she’s the one being bossed around, Beth feels... powerful. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would pull his hands off her like a teenager that’s been caught shoplifting if she so much as looked bored. She wants to push Benny right to his limit; she wants to see him lose control: so she pushes back – both with her ass and her words.

“Do you fuck other girls like this? Up against the door?” She keeps her voice quiet and breathless, intentionally, just to feel his breath catch like it always does. Only this time, Benny makes a noise that sounds like something between a moan and a snarl before she jumps – his teeth are _sharp_ against the nape of her neck, and his nails are piercing the flesh of her waist like claws.

“What are you playing at, Harmon?” Benny continues the slow grind against her ass, but his tone is almost mad. _Good,_ she thinks, and does it again:

“Did you do this with Cleo?”

Beth feels the air leave her lungs as Benny forcefully grabs her – both arms wound tight below her breasts, and heaves her into the air. She knows where he’s taking her, and sure enough, after several lurching steps she is _thrown_ onto the bed with the force of a man reviled. Her limbs are sprawling haphazardly and she struggles to orient her body, but is beaten to the punch.

“You-” he pins her right arm down –

“Are-” the left arm now –

“ _Impossible_.” Benny leverages her legs apart with his own so that Beth is face-down, ass-up for his eyes to consume. She’s beyond gone – her whole body shivering with anticipation; she can’t move a muscle and she wants him to _see her_ , wholly and completely.

From behind her come the sounds of a person undressing hurriedly. She’s never experienced anything like this, with anyone. He’s acting _predatory_ and Beth has never felt this way; she knows tonight will never be enough and she’ll keep crawling back to him like a junkie to feel this way over and over and _over._

After a moment of shuffling, Beth can hold her position no longer, and dares to sneak a look behind her before immediately melting into the sheets. Benny is stroking himself with the most intense look on his face that she’s ever seen, which is really saying something. Their eyes meet – Beth can feel herself growing hot – and Benny _smirks,_ pleased as punch.

“Jesus Christ, _Beth Harmon_. Lucky me.”

To punctuate his words, Benny runs his pointer finger from top to bottom of her pussy, taking his time in rubbing up and down, teasing her slowly.

Beth can’t help herself. “Where did you learn this?”

Benny chuckles: a deep, throaty sound that makes Beth feel faint. “Where did I learn what? How to make you feel good?”

She nods into the pillows, rocking back into the rubbing of his fingers. Benny pauses, considering; she can hear the telltale sound of a condom wrapper being split open. “Are you asking me to tell you about the other people I’ve slept with?”

It’s Beth’s turn to pause. She doesn’t really want to think about Benny with others; in fact, it’s quite unpleasant. The last time she was this jealous over another person… She was in Las Vegas, posing for a newspaper shoot in a hotel room with a lone, queen-sized bed.

“Beth?”

Benny has paused his ministrations, the condom half-forgotten in his hand. His face spells only concern. Beth has the intense, repulsive thought that he won’t want to have sex if she doesn’t pull it together – who would? - so she does what she always does to get what she wants.

She redirects.

“When’s the last time someone sucked you off, Benny Watts?”

She watches his face go from confused, to intrigued, to _hungry._ Beth flips her position on the bed so that her face is parallel with his groin before wrapping a hand around his erection and slowly sliding it, up and down. She can’t see his face but can hear his shaky exhale; see the way his hands flutter, unsure about where to land. Beth takes a breath before opening her mouth around the head of his cock. Benny _freezes,_ then melts on her tongue.

She’d done this once before, with Harry. Just out of curiosity. He’d come so fast that she’d been totally caught off-guard and choked on his, _uh_ , release, and then spent far too long reassuring him that no, it was okay, Beth was fine, no big deal, of course it had never happened to him before, how weird; no, she didn’t want a turn.

Benny feels different in her mouth – sure, there are some differences in shape and size – but it’s more of an _attitude_ difference than anything else. This man is…confident, in the way he holds her head ever-so-lightly; the way his hips rock minutely when she bobs up and down, only forcing her to take it for microseconds longer at a time. Beth can’t take him very deep – she has a notoriously strong gag reflex – but she can give him enthusiasm. She tries to convey this now by sinking her head down as far as she can go and flicking her gaze up to his.

_He’s watching her, and she’s watching him._

Beth sees the same look in his eyes: the one she’s come to realize he only uses to look at her. She feels – odd, like she wants to turn around and see if there’s someone better, prettier, smarter behind her that maybe Benny’s looking at instead, because it’s so full of affection and _wonder_ that it can’t possibly be meant for her. No one has ever looked at her like that.

Benny’s cock falls out of her mouth as she’s staring; his thumbs come down to stroke her face and before she knows it he’s leaning down and kissing her – softly, not like before. Beth disappears into the kiss, letting him guide her body back down onto the mattress in the same position as before. Only, this time, she’s not pinned down – she’s being _cradled_ as he lays tiny kisses on her neck and shoulders while his naked form blankets hers.

“Benny?”

“Mmmm?”

“I’ve never been on a date. Before tonight.”

He pauses his kissing. “You’re lying.”

Beth can feel her brows furrowing. “Why would I lie about that?”

He rolls her torso halfway over so that they can look at each other. “No one has ever taken you out before? Ever?”

She shakes her head, confused. “Never.”

Beth is even more confused in the next moment when Benny sits up abruptly and wraps his arm around her hips, hoisting them into the air. “Benny?”

She’s catching her breath suddenly because Benny’s pressing himself into her – when had he put on the condom? – and the pressure is intensely tight but _damn_ he feels good. “What are you doing?”

He thrusts, pushing her forward so that she has to catch her balance on the headboard: “What people do on dates.”

How Benny manages to make her feel so… _worthy_ while they’re having sex, she will never know. Sure, the goal is to get off, but Benny is pretty much the opposite in bed as he is on the other side of the chess board – he’s attentive, expressive, generous. Not only that, he’s _vocal_ – Beth has a hard time imagining going back to a partner who doesn’t praise her like this. It’s mostly nonsense: he mumbles “good” and “yes” and even “beautiful” in no particular order, but occasionally he makes a full statement, like right now: “ _You belong here.”_

What exactly that means, Beth isn’t entirely sure, but he’s fucking her so well that it doesn’t matter. Benny’s hands are everywhere – her face, her tits, her waist – and after a minute he pulls her up off the bed so that she’s pressed against his chest. They’re panting in synch; he’s thrusting so _frustratingly slowly_ and Beth knows she needs _just_ a little more to get off – to get them both off.

“Tell me I’m better than her.”

“ _Ah_ \- who?”

“Cleo.”

Beth would pay money to get a photo of Benny’s face in this moment. His grip on her body tightens and he fucks into her with a furiousness that might be frightening under other circumstances.

“I won’t,” he says, and she can hear that his teeth are gritted.

“Tell me I’m better.”

“ _No.”_

“Say. It.” She’s so close.

“ _Fuck._ You’re better, Beth, _fuck.”_

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

Beth comes, forcefully, _thunderously,_ at the feel of his teeth biting into her neck _._ She’s never had an orgasm like this; she’s also never been spoken to like this before and she feels so alive and thrilled and goddamn _good_ -

Benny’s still pounding into her and she wants to get him off; wants him to have the climax that she just did: “Will you take me out again? After – _hah –_ Paris?”

She knows she’s said something good, because Benny is groaning between her shoulder blades and coming; his hips are spasming against her ass as he finishes. _Good,_ Beth thinks for the second time tonight.

She thinks it’ll take a while for Benny to come back to himself, but it’s only a handful of moments before he pulls out and flips her over onto her back. He wastes no time in rearranging their limbs so that she’s effectively supporting his body on her chest. They’re both breathing heavily; the room is at least ten degrees hotter than it was before they left.

“You never told me. What do you want, outside of chess?”

He stills. “Huh?”

“You asked me, at the restaurant. What do you want, with your life?”

There’s a long moment while they just rest against each other, exhausted and satisfied. Benny places a lingering kiss on her breast; she giggles at the sensation.

“I want to take you on another date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for how filthy this is. 
> 
> Also, there have been several comments from people concerned about Benny, given that this is canon-compliant and we all know what happens next. I am planning on creating a happy ending for their relationship after Moscow - but you should brace yourselves for the next work because it will be painful in the meantime. 
> 
> I know I originally said that this would be a trilogy, but I think this is probably part 3 of 5 total because I want to finish the canon story and add my own conclusion. 
> 
> Don't worry - their relationship is endgame!


End file.
